Power Shift
by Sabriel41
Summary: [Go see your little Gryffindor if she’s the one who makes you happy. ‘Fire,’ you call her, when you think nobody is listening. But in Hogwarts, somebody always is.] An outsider's look at DG and the balance of power in the Slytherin House.


**Power Shift**

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It was never easy for me, this pretending; the simpering, the concern, and the other acts and sacrifices that made up the grand façade for the sake of the 'Slytherin image.' But we had our good times, too... good times that almost made all the work and deceit worth it. They were almost always by accident over the years; an undignified snowball fight, where you would bestow upon me a ghost of a smile as you ground snow into my hair... and I would shiver, because your eyes were _warm_. Cold, you were magnificent and dangerous, but warm, you were absolutely magnetic. Could have been that I'd have followed you anywhere with the slightest hint, those days, but I digress. 

A moment later, I'd wonder if I'd been seeing things – a trick of the light, perhaps – because the ice would slip back into place as if it had never left.

I'm starting to wonder if it ever did.

Sure, I'd seen you broken and hurting and cursing and jealous as all hell. It was my 'privilege' to mend you when you were in such a condition, and to be jeered at or ignored as it pleased you, or to be hurled into walls on your really bad days. You'd always apologize afterwards, grasping me to your chest with more desperation and fury than penitence or care. It didn't matter; the bruises healed, and I understood anyways. At first with tears, and later with a tired smile, but it was my fault as much as yours, because I always chose to stay.

So I saw your mask slip a time or two... so what? When it really mattered, you chose not to see past mine; you mended the plaster, not the bleeding flesh beneath it. You chose to pretend that my image only needed some adjustment, some subtle changes in order to fit, and to Hell with the girl underneath it; she'd always bounced back before.

And you know best, don't you?

The self-proclaimed 'Prince,' aren't you? Not that there is anyone to challenge your status, out of this sad bunch of miscreants that Fate and a disgusting piece of clothing plunked in Slytherin. We're the children of the mad, and the bad, and the not-quite-conventional... yes, even you and I. The world doesn't know what to do with us, so we're relegated to the dungeons and to Snape; I'm frankly not sure which of the two is worse.

The elegantly dangerous men, the subtly cunning women that we'll inevitably become... the sanity of our Headmaster must be questioned for placing us all together, and then being surprised at the way we often 'turn out.' Not that darkness is a bad thing, mind you – it's merely suicidal in this day and age. Numbers and figures might not be my area of choice, but _honestly._ Three to one odds are unsavory at best.

Yes, dear, that is even if you choose to fight dirty, which you will. Not to worry; last I checked, they weren't pulling any punches either. And you're walking right into it; they're going to burn your pale skin, and punch in that haughtily aristocratic nose of yours, and _then_ they're going to start working on you.

Good.

Merlin knows I never had the guts to do it.

It's not like Granger's the only witch in this school who reads her textbooks; whatever shortcomings my parents may have – and they have a number of those – they taught me how to read, and how to love it. But the rest of the world doesn't know that... just you, and I, and a pile of books carefully stashed around my dorm. Slytherin witches aren't show-offs, you remind me. I'm here because I belong here, _she's_ got to 'prove' that she does, you say.

And because I loved you in some admittedly masochistic way, I listened. It helped that back then you weren't a blazing hypocrite.

It also helped that, the minute your eyes caught mine on one Ronald Weasley halfway through sixth year, you made _damn_ sure that I had a lot more time to spend with my beloved books. It wasn't as if I could help it; he'd come into a lot of his own, that boy... he was everything I wanted to be; everything I wanted to have, to touch. He would have been freedom, Draco. Freedom, and brilliant chess games, and Merlin-blessed _spontaneity_. He couldn't dress, he couldn't dance, and he didn't know a thing about tact or politics or subtlety – but you know what? I think I loved him even more for all of that.

Not that you cared what he would have been to me; to you he was nothing more than bad press.

So it happened that one day I happened to look too long, and you caught me looking. Oh, I was allowed to leave the Common Room, but you made sure that Millicent or Blaise were with me, or I was physically attached to you.

I was hardly as flattered as I had been, back in those days that seem so much more innocent now, all snowball fights and tangled scarves. I was your pity date, your 'obligation,' and forgive me if that premise just didn't hold the same appeal after I realized just what that meant. I know, I know. I could have been stuck with worse than you; I'm perfectly aware of the scads of witches who would do anything within their power to be the girl you escorted to dinner and social functions, to dance with you, to be _seen_ with the dangerous eminence that embodies the Malfoy.

I'm not blind, my dear; and I'll agree with their assessment. The packaging is pretty. But the meager warmth I'd known had disappeared by your third year, and your cruelty and ignorance shone out at ally and enemy alike if they looked at you the wrong way... Yet I stayed, as I always did, taking a twisted sort of pleasure in the fact that you were in the same position that I was. It wasn't as if, by that point, I had anywhere else to go...

I'm not stupid, either, and for all the things you may be, you're an absolute _idiot_ in love. The slightly rumpled hair and messy tie I'd seen a million times before... and it would have slipped past me if you hadn't smiled. It wasn't much of a smile; little more than your lips curving upwards at the ends, but it was genuine. I hadn't seen you smile like that in four years.

Intrigue, you taught me. Subtlety. Observation. It's beautifully ironic that the things you forced into me will be the things that will ensnare you now.

Oh, don't worry, your secret is safe with me; go see your little Gryffindor if she's the one who makes you happy. 'Fire,' you call her, when you think nobody is listening. She makes you smile, and for that she has my approval. She's the best thing to happen to you in years.

But you... ah, _you_ should watch your step. You're slipping, Draco, and the power you held over my head is now mine. Even you've got to admit that my attraction to Ron means nothing, now that it's his sister you're seeing, her ring you wear on a chain under your robes. It's incredible the things that you can learn when you're considered nothing more than a sidekick, a hanger-on. Ask people what my hair colour is, Draco, and they'll answer 'blonde,' or 'black,' or with nothing more than an insecure mumbling. I'm not 'nothing' without you; that's just what you would have the others – and me – believe. They believe it; I'm the detail, the 'girlfriend,' little more than simpering, silly, stupid, inconsequential Pansy. Delicate and dismissable, just like the flower that is my namesake. Pity that I'm not - for you, anyways. Invisibility has its advantages... I know enough about your little trysts to keep you quiet for a good long while.

_Am_ I being unfair to you? Perhaps. But I learned, as they say, from the best.

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**..._fin..._**

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DISCLAIMER: The Potterverse – and all appropriate characters and locations – are property of J.K. Rowling. I just get to borrow them from time to time... 

SABRIEL'S SCRIBBLES: Inspired a little by Dido's song "Don't Think of Me," and a little by the idea of taking a D/G relationship from an external perspective. I'm a D/G writer, but it always made me curious as to how others would see these two as a couple. Admittedly, Pansy stole the show... she's a surprisingly compelling character, given a chance.

Comments, impressions, and constructive criticism are always welcome; regardless, thank you for reading!


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